What little grace could be found in dirt
You would surely find it
If lasts week’s lullabies were tonight’s eulogy,
We would be sated that today was wasted
Like sunrise or mowed grass
At night, we linger in dreams of the desert
Where I learned from the scorched sand to be thirsty
But morning always breaks like the bloom of a magnolia
Incandescent
And blinding in its beauty
Soothing the lump of charred cedar that lies in your chest
Where a heart should be
And pulling empty hands
Along the twisted, gnarled path we chose to share
